The Manitowoc pilot. [volume] (Manitowoc, Wis.) 1859-1932, 1887-06-02
DOC.
A Simple Tale of Backwoods Life

A Simple Tale of Backwoods Life.
| When Doe first came to live with US
it was in the early spring. He was a
pitiful-looking boy. He was a little,
puffy-looking chap, with a pale face,
! small, bony arms, and short, weakly
| looking legs, aud rather sickly-look-
| ing, frizzled up, straw-cOlored hair on
| his head. There was no personal
| beauty about Docs face and figure,
and yet he was not unusually hard fay-
ored. He was commonplace. Only
that and nothing more. Only a pea
in a pod where a dozen peas of similar
| appearance reposed. Only little
wire-grass boy, with not one redeem
| ing feature about him except his eyes.
| They were only remarkable for the pa
| thetic expression that fingered there.
What little light that ever flashed from
| them was of that sOrrowful cast that
one observes lingering on the western
| horizon after days rain has closed
in a humid sunset.
Doc lost his mother. That was the
| tie that bound us to him. She was
| commonplace wire-grass woman, but
in her uncultured soul dwelt the same
| traits of maternal love and cherishing
tenderness that are supposed to illum-
| inc the high-born souls of those grand
DANES whose white hands have never
| battled against a hard and evil fate
| for the simple necessities of prolong-
! ing existence. She had nourished and
cherished her little boy, as only fond
mother can nourish and cherish weak
and fragile child. Ever on the watch,
| she had stood between him and all the
wild streams of adversity that ragged
about their humble log cabin in the
| desolate barrens.
When she died Doe took it to heart
to greater extent than any of us
thought possible. He had been such a
puny, peevish, pettish sort of boy
that we thought that only his selfish
ness could suffer. We were mistaken.
Doe was older than his age.
Well | remember how mother used
to toast the crispest bits of brown
| cornbread. softcned with the fresh,
sweet butter, ana how she used to put
in a big lump of that brown mush
sugar in his coffee, so as to induce the
little fellow to eat.
You know his ma is dead" she
| used TO say, land we must try to keep
| him from missing her in every way we
cam
And we were learning. We were
being taught the grandest lesson in
| human lore-the creed of unselfish-
ness.
We could not get him to Join us very
often in any play. He was too weak.
| But when the afternoon sun shone
| through the riffs in the great pine for
est he would creep out on the sunny
side with US and we would adjust our
sports to his strength. Sometimes he
would look up from his play, and, with
| his eyes full of tears, he would ex-
claim: My ma is dead! l can't never
see her no more" Then he would sob
and moan as if his little heart would
break, and | am not ashamed to say
we would cry too. Might not the
good Lord take our dear mother, too?"
we asked ourselves.
All. my sainted mother! Thy love-
lighted brown eyes have been closed
to earthly scenes for many summers.
They closed your poor, toil-worn
hands above your cold, still heart a
long. long time ago, and the tall pines
| have shed from their dropping
| boughs the purest distilled dews of
| heaven above your lonely grave; and
| yet in my dreams | see that face often
and again, and | never accomplish a
good deed or am guilty of a bad one
but what yours is the first name that
| flashes through my intellect. a man
may have 10000 friends, even two
well-beloyed wives, but never but one
mother. Blessed be that holy name
above all earthly treasures most sacred
and longest cherished.
As the spring days grew warmer and
the timid wood yiolets peeped forth on
banks where the sun fingered longest,
our protege grew more robust. There
was even a faint tinge of blood in his
! pallid cheek after a short walk about
the plantation.
Deeper green grew the woodlands.
! The rugged pines even touched them
selves up with a few gay tufts of
softer tint, and from their queer bios
SONS fell showers of gold dust that
covered the still surfaces of the water
ponds. The trailing jasmine covered
itself with golden bloom, and the
| honeysuckle and dogWood blossoms
made the swamps and lowlands radi-
ant with gay hues and redolent with
| delicate perfume. Birds sang among
the bursting buds on the crab-apple
tree. and the blue arch of heaven was
gilded with the fine gold of the life-giy-
| ing sunlight.
Our sports and pastimes would seem
funny 10 you. We went fishing nights.
1t was only half mile TO the creek,
and on a little bluff that overhung the
dark waters we could build our camp
| fires, and then cast our crude tackle
in the gloomy eddies where the fire.
| light played in titful waves of light and
| shadow. Doc did love to fish We
would dig in the trash heaps for muck
worms or skin the pine logs for saw
yers, and then we would carry his
tackle for him and walk slow, and
J hefp him across the sloshes, and when